Zi Tao remembers a mixture of sharp and soft. His jaw, his eyes, his words- they’re sharper than any blade Zi Tao will ever carry, yet as soft as the silk sheets he lays on when sleep comes to claim him. Over the horizon, the sun dips. A smile twitches on his lips and recalls how so many years ago, sleep used to involve dreams of a man with locks as long as his sword. His own have grown over the years and now fall over his eyes, though he does keep his bangs somewhat manageable. The idea brings a toothy smile to his lips at last. He remembers dark tresses, once splayed beneath him, once wrapped in a topknot. He remembers the sharpness of a young man’s face, one so soft to the touch, one so beautiful to gaze upon that it still warms Zi Tao’s heart even thought it’s been so long. Pink lips, pale face, curt words, yet a voice so tender that it still lilts in Zi Tao’s mind. Night falls, and all Zi Tao can do is remember locks a mile long- tresses so dark and soft that they remind him of wings from a demon.